Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(70)
“Diah, no! I—”
“If you want me to speak, madam, that is what I will say! And I will add that I wish I’d never laid eyes on you! I wish I’d never heard your name. God forgive me, but I wish I’d sailed the other way when I saw your bloody rotten ship, for if I had, I would have spared us all the disaster you have brought down on all our heads! Alas, I did no’, but you may rest assured, I will do everything in my power to see that you are made to account for it.”
“There is no call for that!” Mr. MacLean suddenly appeared and put his hands on Lottie’s shoulders. She looked stunned. And broken.
Aulay realized that everyone had heard his diatribe and sprang from the rock, pushing past Lottie and MacLean. He called to his men in Gaelic to gather round, and warned them that when they reached Balhaire, they should not invite discussion about the Livingstones, and to have a care what they said about what had happened. “We’ll not have anyone believing we had any part in the illegal trade of the Livingstones. The less we say, the less involved we are, and the less anyone will believe any accusations to the contrary.”
“But we have them in our custody,” Iain the Red pointed out. “Will we pretend we are ignorant?”
“They pirated our fecking ship, and we have that right to keep them in our custody,” Aulay said curtly. “But donna mention the whisky, lads—men can be quite irrational when it comes to women, money or lost whisky.”
“Will we accuse them of piracy?” asked Billy Botly.
Aulay looked around at his men and their haggard faces. He thought of how they must face their families now. “We will indeed,” he said darkly, and whirled around, shouting in English, “Walk on!” and signaling for the party to carry on.
They were, all of them, completely spent when they at last reached the high street that ran through the village that surrounded Balhaire. They were stumbling along, mostly silent, too weary to speak and concentrating on putting one foot before the other.
A lass was the first to spot them, and with a shout of delight, she ran ahead of them up the road, calling for her mother with the news the ship had come home.
Moments later, the bell began to ring, signaling the return of a ship that was no more. People spilled into the street to call out their welcomes, some running toward them, eager to greet their loved ones. More than one slowed their steps when they saw the ragged crew, staring in shock and confusion.
Aulay’s men were a wee bit emotional as would be expected, having survived the sinking of a ship. They began to fall out from the group, some of them to their knees with relief, others rushing to kiss their wives and scoop their children up in their arms.
Aulay halted in the middle of the high street with the Livingstones as the reunions played out around them. He was sickened by these happy homecomings, knowing that these families would expect their men to have returned to them with money in their pockets and trinkets for their children. They were expecting the means to put shoes on their children’s feet or a winter’s crop in their plots of land.
He needed a dram or two of whisky. He signaled the rest of them to carry on, up to the castle at the top of the hill. The Livingstones, too exhausted to do anything else, followed dully behind him. Aulay had lost half his men to reunions with their loved ones, but Beaty and Iain the Red, steadfast and loyal to him, brought up the rear.
Just as they reached the gates to Balhaire, a rider came barreling around the corner from the road that led into the glens, moving too fast, too recklessly. Aulay’s heart lifted. He knew only one person who rode like that—his younger sister, Catriona.
She reined up sharply with a cry of delight when she saw him, threw herself off the horse, and strode forward, her face a wreath of smiles...until she drew close enough to see him. “Mi Diah, what has happened?” she exclaimed. “You look a fright, Aulay, you do! Have you taken ill?”
“I’m quite well,” he said. “’Tis a long tale, lass, one I’ll tell you with the rest of the family, aye?”
She cocked her head to one side and eyed him shrewdly, then put her arms around him.
“Cat, lass, I’m filthy—”
“I donna care.” But she suddenly leaned to one side. “Dè an diabhal, who is that?”
Aulay didn’t bother to look behind him. “Prisoners.”
She gasped. “Prisoners!” she whispered loudly, and tried to get another look at them. Aulay put his arm around her shoulders and began to move her along toward the castle gates. He knew very well that if he removed his arm, she would put herself in front of the group and begin to ask questions.
She blinked her blue eyes with surprise. “I canna guess what you’re about, Aulay Mackenzie, but I canna wait to hear it.” She grinned, slipped her arm around his waist, and together they walked through the gates and into the bailey.
A groom was instantly on hand, and Catriona sent him to fetch her horse. The thick-planked double oak entrance doors to the old castle fortress opened and Frang, the family butler, stepped out onto the landing and bowed. “Fàilte dhachaigh, Captain. Welcome home.”
“Thank you,” Aulay said wearily, thinking of how close he’d come to never laying eyes on Balhaire again. “My father?”
“The laird and the lady wait for you in the great hall, aye?” Frang said. But he was looking past Aulay, to the group behind him.